Ancient
by Saskia Q
Summary: A powerful werewolf, awakened from a century-long slumber. A member of a secret order, obsessed with an ancient werewolf clan. As these two threads wind seamlessly together, the origins of werewolves are revealed, as is their effect on the mortal world.
1. Talamasca

Lydia Martin took another sip from her coffee and looked at her watch. Ten minutes left until the whole thing would start and she would savor every quite minute she could get until then.

She was about to take another sip when her cell phone rang. Lydia didn't bother to look who it was calling her. There was only one person that would phone at this time on this day. Stiles. Her mentor. The same man that recruited her two years ago, and on that day made her a member of the Talamasca order.

Talamasca, an old Latin term to describe a witch or a shaman, meaning "Animal Mask".

The Talamasca order, or simply Talamasca, a secret society watching over and keeping track of the occult world. The organization was formally founded in the First Century, but existed even long before that. The order itself is responsible for the suppression and cover-up of many unexplained events regarding the supernatural world, namely the existence of vampires, werewolves and witches.

Some supernaturals once belonged to the Talamasca order before being bitten or turned, often against their own will.

The motherhouse, based in Nevada, with stations in London, Amsterdam, Rome and other various parts of the world, holds diaries and other expository items that may reveal the existence and nature of vampires, werewolves and witches in its grand libraries.

Beneath the main motherhouse are a number of storages and vaults in which the Talamasca stores a substantial collection of artifacts, all connected with the occult. Some vaults accessible only by the eldest members of the order.

When the door finally opened, distracting Lydia from her thoughts, three people spilled into the room. Lydia greeted them accordingly, and she identified them as high members of the council. The door creaked open again, and an older man came in. Instantly, the room atmosphere became so tense that Lydia could smell the fear on her fellow Talamascans.

Her mouth pinched into a thin line when the founder followed up his less-than-cheerful greeting with, "Why have you summoned us here at this ungodly hour, Miss Martin?"

Suddenly, all eyes were on her.

The room itself was brutally lit by artificial light. And in the middle of all this, Lydia stood.

"Come on, Miss Martin," the founder's smooth baritone voice broke through the splintering silence. "We don't have all day."

Peter Hale's face appeared on a video screen behind her as Lydia pushed the remote to start her presentation. Clips from Peter's press conference continued as Lydia started addressing the impressive and imposing group of council members dressed in demure suits at the table.

"As all of you, I believed Peter to be a fake, a cultural phenomenon with a gimmick. Using werewolf lore to enthrall the masses. But then one of the phrases in his lyrics caught my attention. I now have reason to believe that Peter Hale is indeed a werewolf and an ancient one."

Lydia looked around the room, searching each face as most looked at her bewildered. She savored every twitch, flinch and look of abject horror on the faces of the council members.

One Talamascan leaned forward, arms folded across his chest. "Peter Hale has an excellent PR manager with flair for the dramatic. Nothing more, nothing less."

Lydia nodded, not letting the words get to her. "It would appear that way. However, have you listened to his songs? Read his lyrics?"

The council members glanced at each other, questioningly. A few shook their heads and laughed. "No, not exactly our style."

"Well, I have." Lydia fired back. "In one of his songs, he refers to a place called House of Wolves." She pushed a button, causing the lyrics of the song to appear on screen.

"I tracked down old leases in Beacon Hills. It turns out, in the late 1600's, there was a meeting place, right in the back streets of old Beacon Hills called House of Wolves."

The lyrics on screen were replaced by an old photograph of a building with a sign reading " _Domum Lupus_ " (Wolf House).

"It had a reputation for dealing with black magic. Witches, covens, séances, that sort of thing. And people being lured their and vanishing."

Quick flashes of old newspaper titles and gruesome drawings appeared on the screen.

Lydia snatched a pen off the conference desk, "Here's where you could find the House of Wolves in old Beacon Hills." and pointed at a particular section on an old map of Beacon Hills presented on screen.

"And here it is today."

A modern map appeared, overlaying the old map.

"Of course, the House is not there anymore. That part of Beacon Hills is mostly old warehouses and meat-packing plants."

"And in a few years it will be luxurious lofts and expensive boutiques," the founder stated strongly, forcing Lydia's focus onto him. "Where is this going, Miss Martin?"

"I belief it's a werewolf meeting place and Peter is leading us to it."

Murmurs erupted throughout the room, many of definite interest, some of definite skepticism.

"Who took this picture?"

Lydia paused before answering quietly, "I did."

Whispers exploded through the entire group. Some stared at Lydia, dismayed.

"You went there? Alone?"

Lydia cringed a bit, then nodded. "Yes. Two nights ago."

"You are still an apprentice, you don't do field work."

Lydia opened her mouth to respond.

"Who gave you this directive?" The founder effortlessly continued over her.

"No one. I just... had to see for myself." After her admission, Lydia quickly tried to recover her ground. "I am certain that-"

The same man interrupted her again. "Lydia, the Talamasca has a code."

Lydia felt like her head was spinning and she was losing the grip on this meeting.

"I know. Observe the dark realm but be not of it."

She stared at the founder for a moment before another member of the council spoke up.

"For centuries, our mission as Talamascans has been to observe, record and conceal, but never interfere."

Lydia still wasn't sure when this meeting had veered completely off track like this. She blinked, trying desperately not to crumble under their gaze.

"Many of the references in his lyrics could only be derived from access to classified materials, which seems unlikely for a rock star. Plus, there are historical details in his lyrics that don't exist anywhere... except in our library. Peter Hale may well be the oldest and most powerful werewolf ever documented!"

"Is Stiles aware of this? Does he know about your unauthorized field trip?"

At this point, Lydia was pretty sure that the meeting was never going to have the outcome she had intended, instead, it might get her fired.

"No, I never…"

"Lydia."

Lydia turned around so fast she heard her neck crack before she felt it. Standing behind her, in the back of the room, was Stiles Stilinski, looking angry.

"Stiles, I was just explaining-"

"My office… Now." With that, Stiles turned and walked out.

As they gazed at her, disappointed, Lydia gathered her materials and started out the door.

• • •

Lydia wasn't stupid. Stiles Stilinski was the best mentor on the West Coast. He was recognized by the order for his amazing analytical mind and extensive historical knowledge. He was feared for his acerbic wit and copious vocabulary. It didn't hurt that he was handsome. Nerd Hot. Though most found out quickly enough that he was married to the job. Lydia often found herself completely consumed whenever Stiles became impassioned during a lecture on werewolves, his preferred subject. Or while arguing with fellow librarians, eventually, converting them to his opinion. Lydia didn't have any other option, she had to beg him for forgiveness, if necessary.

"Professor," Lydia greeted while she entered her mentor's office. "You wanted to see me."

"Do close the door." Stiles motioned her to take a seat.

She nodded awkwardly, slumping down into the chair opposite the desk and wrapping her legs in front of her. Maybe if there was another barrier between them, he wouldn't be inclined to yell at her.

"I'm immensely disappointed…" Stiles began, snapping Lydia out of her thoughts.

She was definitely in trouble, her behavior and his body language said it all. It just made her want to prove to him more that she was right. That she didn't betray him for nothing.

"Peter is a werewolf, Stiles. I'm certain of it." She cut him off in what she hoped didn't sound like a snap.

"All the more reason to have told me first. You are my apprentice, Lydia. If you break the rules, it looks bad on me. It's not just your career on the line."

"I'm sorry." She started to defend herself, not wanting Stiles to think that she didn't respect him.

"Listen, Lydia. We know about Peter. What he is doing is unprecedented."

There was a long pause where they both just stared, Lydia at the man she admired, disbelief written all over her face, and Stiles at the books laid out on his desk, guilt in his eyes.

Lydia couldn't remember the last time she'd been so angry, nor when she had ever felt so betrayed. Of course it didn't help that a moment ago she believed to have been in the wrong, ready to beg for forgiveness. But all those feelings quickly vanished, as pride in having her suspicions confirmed and curiosity took over.

"So why is he doing it? Aren't you curious, don't you think we should find out?" Lydia all-but shouted, unable to contain her excitement.

"Do you have any idea what you've done? The lines you've crossed? Not just now, with this picture, but all the months leading up to this. Neglecting your duties, accessing classified documents behind my back. You've become obsessed and that is exactly the reason why I decided not to include you."

Lydia leaped from the chair and stood, stepping around the desk to loom over Stiles, who held his ground, looking up at her, waiting. She leaned both hands on the edge of Stiles's desk and looked down at her mentor, fire in her eyes.

"I might be your apprentice and you my mentor, but never assume to know my feelings."

"Actually, I do." Stiles said shortly, standing up from behind his desk and looking over his shoulder as he passed her. "Come here, let me show you something."

He gestured towards his portrait collection. Lydia hesitated, then turned and followed her mentor as Stiles started to pull out a few paintings.

"What do you see?" He asked, a small smile gracing his lips.

"Mid 1500, Florence." Lydia pointed out and Stiles smiled at her.

"Yes, and these?"

Lydia gave the paintings a final suspicious look before she answered her mentor. "The same man is in all of them."

"Correct. All different paint samples, all authentic, each one painted in their particular time and style." Stiles explained, fingers tracing the man's face, stroking his mouth and exquisite cheekbones. "His name is Derek. I have been tracking him for years, my dirty little secret. My obsession."

Much later when Lydia had the opportunity to think back on it. She would remember Stiles as if in this very moment, the desire for this man so apparent on his face.

"Derek is the closest we have come to the original werewolf. He dates back to 1400 BC."

"He is the same age as Peter Hale?"

Stiles nodded, more to himself then to Lydia. "Peter and Derek are related."

Lydia froze, sensing her heartbeat quickening. "How do you know that?"

"Because I have Peter's journal."

"I want to see it." Lydia whispered, a tightness sprung in her chest. "I want to read it."

Stiles smiled at her, automatically forgiving her greedy attitude.

"First promise me you will never go back to that place."

Lydia smiled sheepishly and nodded in agreement. "Yes. That sounds agreeable."

Stiles searched Lydia's face with his own for a moment, wondering if she was serious.

"I promise, Stiles."

When he noticed nothing but sincerity in her eyes, he ducked his head and tried to hide his smile. "Left bookcase, top shelf." He turned and walked out of the office, his footsteps echoing in the hallway as Lydia rushed towards the bookshelf on the left.

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	2. Library Stalker

Stiles walked down the empty hall, feet carrying him to the elevator by force of habit.

"Night shift again, Mister Stilinski?" asked the security guard sympathetically.

Stiles merely smiled at him, shaking the rain from the upturned collar of his coat.

"Second time this week. Won't be the last." he informed the man in uniform, pressing the button for the elevator. The doors opened almost instantly, he stepped into the shining silver interior and tapped the button for the basement floor. He fished through his pocket for his phone, sending Lydia yet another text message. The elevator doors opened once again, and he stepped out, eyes still glued to his phone. As he made his way into the corridor, he tapped his finger against the screen, looking over last week's notes and wondering what the hell he was thinking when he wrote them.

What did "Lycan Coup. Page 60." even mean? Page sixty of what? He couldn't remember.

Stiles read his last scribble, then finally looked up to glare at the splendor of the library greeting him as he entered, pausing to flip the light switch.

Two echoing stories high with a magnificent stained glass skylight, a wide central stairway to one side, tucked under an archway, its shelves contained not only enough books to stock many libraries, but a dizzying array of priceless artifacts representing occult finds from all over the world.

The white walls and black-and-white diamond pattern of the marble floor gave the vast chamber an oddly modern touch, though the richness of the walnut paneling and shelving reminded of an earlier, more elegant time, more befitting the precious contents of this collection.

He spread papers over an empty desk before turning and shrugging out of his coat, hanging the wet material to dry on the coatrack by the door.

As he pored over Peter Hale's diary, deciphering his coded entries was laborious work, his brain called a halt to the night work and chased him outside in search of coffee.

Peter's paranoia and lust for power showed in his meticulous notes. It took days to translate and decode just one segment, let alone the entire book. Stiles couldn't fathom why Peter took such extreme precautions, but then, he couldn't understand most of what this creature did.

• • •

Lydia moved steadily along the street past darkened warehouses and abandoned buildings. Street lamps lined the lane, illuminating rows of cardboard shelters and empty bottles.

She went deeper into a labyrinth of alleys, the street becoming darker with every step. Too dark. She looked over her shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time that night. A part of her wished she was still in the cab.

Suddenly, in the shadows, a bottle smashed. Lydia quickened her pace and ran straight into an enormous figure. A primal scream escaped her mouth. An old homeless woman, more scared than Lydia, ran quickly into the night. Lydia pressed her back against the wall and took a deep breath.

In the distance she saw lights with figures moving through the dark. She inched around the corner, and, from the shadows, gazed at people knocking on the metal door in the wall up ahead. The slot in the door slipped open. A moment later, the strangers vanished inside. Soon after, two couples approached, dressed in black leather and expensive shoes. Lydia took a deep breath and fell into step behind them.

This wasn't the first back alley bar Lydia had ever walked into, but definitely the first potential occult establishment. As she crossed the threshold, a dark, yet modern interior greeted her. The red drapes and Transylvanian decor were nowhere to be found.

Set up to resemble a bar of sorts, with metal tables and chairs, but obvious that this place was so much more than just a simple club. The expensive furniture looked brand new, regardless of it having a very antique and old feel to them, fully capturing the essence of the place.

The casual, dim lighting created an intimate atmosphere as it highlighted the room's best features. It formed the perfect focus for the prestigious decorations on display.

The music was part blues, part rock, dark and ominous as if the DJ knew exactly the sort of trouble Lydia was in. A large screen, playing a Peter Hale music video, was mounted in the corner. One of the many subtle signs that she was exactly in the right place. Inconspicuous to a clueless human stumbling into this bar, but obvious to a Talamascan.

Most of the customers were young, wearing black leather jackets, or dressed in elaborate, expensive clothes that looked custom-made.

Ignoring the curious looks being directed at her, the white summer dress she wore proved extremely out of place here, she made her way to the bar.

Three men, possibly wolves, were standing next to a pool table, and in the middle of what seemed like a heated discussion, all the while looking up at Peter Hale on the TV screen.

"I'm telling you. Every pack's going."

As Lydia reached the men, they fell silent, watching her pass.

The barman, tall, lean, dark-haired, wearing a white shirt and tie, looked up as she approached, staring at her for a moment.

"And what can I get for you, miss?" he asked, with a slight emphasis on the 'you'.

"A Cosmo, please." Lydia replied.

Left alone at the bar, she tried, by sheer force of will, to stop anyone approaching her and trying to chat her up.

"Come here often?" the stranger asked as he leaned towards Lydia.

Lydia sighed inwardly. The men from earlier were now at the bar, favoring her with what might have been intended as gallant smiles.

"All the time." Lydia replied, her mouth suddenly going dry.

She steadfastly avoided eye contact, but to no avail. The men glided closer.

One of them suddenly touched her neck. "Don't see any marks."

"You haven't seen the rest of my body."

"Is that an invitation?" Another man asked as he licked his lips.

Lydia found herself surrounded by three strangers, possibly all wolves. She shook her head.

"So, where's your host?" the eldest inquired.

"My host? Oh, he's here somewhere." Lydia replied as she started moving towards the door.

She was stopped by one of the men blocking her path. "Your host. What's his name?"

Lydia looked around, trying not to panic. Strange faces with slightly glowing yellow and blue eyes stared at her. Blue eyes, she knew what that meant, these men had taken innocent lives. There was a terrible pause as Lydia struggled to regain her ground.

"Derek, Derek Hale." She spat out quickly.

A sudden strange movement near the dance floor caught Lydia's eye. She thought she detected a dark shadow, almost like a figure, red eyes glowing in the darkness, but when she blinked and took a second glance, the shadow was gone.

"Sorry. Don't know the guy." One of the wolves said.

Lydia desperately tried to cover her terror. "He's… an ancient."

"There aren't any ancients left. They all turned to dust."

"That's a myth. Besides, he's an ancient." Lydia pointed at the TV where Peter Hale was performing in yet another one of his legendary music videos.

"He will soon be dust as well." the wolf answered, clear mockery in his voice.

Lydia watched as the other men slowly began to close in on her.

Stepping from the shadows, the dark figure returned, eyes red as blood. Whines and growls erupted from the men and women surrounding him.

One of the wolves next to Lydia gazed at the creature, his confusion suddenly turning to anger. "Kill him. Kill the traitor." He commanded the other men, baring his fangs.

In that instant, Lydia bolted out the door, feeling confused as to what just happened, proud for earning her place in Talamascan history, and fear as she realized she might not live long enough to tell anyone.

• • •

Stiles had initially decided on going to the library and not coming back out until he had decoded the entire damn thing. It turned out to be a fruitless endeavor once he found himself rereading the same paragraph four times and was still unable to comprehend what he'd just read. His hands itched with the urge to do something, preferably something productive, so he decided to occupy himself re-shelving the books in the library and bring some order to them.

The library felt large and empty with no one around so he turned on the old radio on one of the tables to banish the quiet.

He went about shelving peacefully, only half interested to the songs and the radio host talking between ballads. He was barely listening when the strains of a new song reached his ears.

The music wasn't bad. Performed well but not nearly slick enough to be a studio effort. Stiles probably would choose Adele, given the chance.

By the time the chorus came around, his fingers started tapping along to the rhythm onto whichever book was in his hand. He felt compelled to move, feet sliding him across the room, book in hand. There was no harmony or order to his movements that he could discern, but it was exhilarating. His entire upper body swayed along to the song as he continued shelving the books without stopping his half-dance.

As he felt the blood rush up to color his cheeks, he bumped into a chair, waltzing it back into place, clearing floor space. His foot tapped along to the beat as he returned to shelving books, nodding along to the tune.

Then he heard it; the sound of creaking floorboards. Stiles's eyes flew open, disrupting his trance. He instantly walked around the desk and grabbed the heavy metal baseball bat off the floor from where he set it earlier that week. He flattened himself against a bookcase, weapon at the ready.

Having forgotten to shut the door that led into the massive library, Stiles could see clear into the corridor. The only things he detected were the dark shapes of boxes that had yet to be unpacked.

The creaking continued. It sounded as if someone had just walked over the small section of loose floorboards in the back of the library.

At that moment, he felt his phone buzz. Lydia was calling him. He pressed accept and put the phone to his ear. "Lydia, where are you?"

Lydia's voice cracked into life on the other end of the line. "Stiles, I made a terrible mistake."

Stiles could hear music in the background and someone shouting something.

"Tell me you didn't go back there."

"I did and it turns out I was right." Lydia said, sounding slightly pleased with herself.

"You went there alone?" Stiles asked disbelievingly.

There was no answer on the other end of the line.

"Where are you exactly?"

"Old warehouse district." Lydia informed. "I think I'm being followed."

"I'm alerting the extraction team as we speak."

"No, don't. I will be fired if the founder finds out about this."

"At least you will be alive, Lydia."

"Please, Stiles. He will erase my memory. I will go back to being a clueless zombie. That's worse than death." Lydia made a sound resembling pure desperation. "I'm still wearing my tracker and I hid some wolfs bane in my pumps."

"Fine. Find a place to hide. I'm on my way." Stiles commanded, ending the call abruptly.

Since no one had attacked him yet, he chalked the mysterious creaking floorboard incident off as a combination of sleep deprivation and the natural settling of an old building. But he was determined to check the camera's later, for peace of mind.

• • •

Lydia hurried down the alley and broke into a run, but the men from the bar landed in front of, beside, and behind her. Her heart raced as she shook with fear, watching the wolves close in on her.

"This is not going to hurt. You might even enjoy it," one of the men said as he ran his hand up and down Lydia's body.

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	3. Clever Librarian

Lydia started shivering as she broke out in a cold sweat. The others grinned, enjoying the scene. The eldest wolf picked her up by the throat, her legs flailing in the air.

Lips stretched into a wide smile, cruel, sharp teeth flashing. Damp stinking breath hit her face, and she stared into her attacker's eyes, twin blue eclipses. Her heart froze in fear.

Screaming and straining against the iron grip, she ignored the pain around her neck and tried to wrench free, the wolf's body cold and unyielding under her hands.

"Release me." Lydia cried out, eyes widening in shock and fear when she realized his next move.

The reply was a hard hand across the face, her head jerking to the side in a movement as painful as she predicted. She tasted fresh blood in her mouth.

"Don't you talk back to me, you little bitch." The monster raised his hand again.

But she wasn't a defenseless girl anymore, the order had taught her how to handle herself in a fight, but this thing was strong, well past any human capabilities. It caught her arm effortlessly, blocking her attack, the retaliation leaving her ears ringing and something warm trickling down her cheek. And then it struck again. And again.

As her pulse spiked and her head whipped around once more, she saw something move in the far corner of the alley. Half hidden in the shadows, slowly moving into the light, a creature. Something dark and enormous, the shape morphing and shifting in a decidedly uncanny way. Lydia felt her skin crawl.

Suddenly, the two other wolves surrounding her turned and bared their teeth. As the beast was forced to release her, Lydia collapsed forward, hitting the bricks hard. Gasping for air, she looked up as her attackers were hurled out of the alley by an invisible force.

Choking, she pushed herself up on shaky arms, struggling to stand, and was caught completely off guard by the familiar face staring at her. The air suddenly became electric as she, still woozy, found herself gazing into the entrancing hazel eyes of Peter Hale.

"Thanks." Lydia said, smoothing out her dress.

"For what?" Peter gazed at Lydia and moved closer, breathing her in, making her fluster.

"Well, you saved me." She replied, gesturing towards the dead bodies on the ground.

Peter smirked. "How presumptuous."

He raised his eyebrows expectantly as he continued to stare at her.

"So, you know Derek."

"I know a lot of things."

Peter paused, surprised at her brazenness.

"Not how to stay alive apparently." He sighed in delight, circling her.

"Your song, Innocence Lost, the lyrics are the truth, word for word. You killed that girl, the violinist." Lydia suddenly blurted out.

That stopped Peter. He gazed at Lydia, surprised, but quickly recovered his composure.

"Is it?" Peter approached carefully, as if worried Lydia might run. He circled an arm around her back while the other slid beneath her shoulder, his hand at the base of her neck. "And what else do you think you know?"

"You want…"

As Lydia spoke, Peter maneuvered her to a smashed window. He stared at the broken glass and guided her hand downward, closer to the shattered pieces.

"What do I want?"

He scraped her finger along the bits of broken glass and gravel. Lydia gasped, moans spilling from her lips, the pain turning to pleasure as Peter slowly brought her bleeding finger toward his mouth, licking the drops of blood sliding down her hand.

"To walk amongst humans."

His eyes burned as he tasted her, savoring her mortality.

"To be out of the cold dark wasteland of eternity."

The mood changed almost instantly at the end of that sentence.

Peter shook his head. "Well, that makes you a very clever librarian. Talamascan."

His lips curled in anger. He shoved Lydia away and wiped his mouth.

"I knew I left that journal somewhere. So, was it a good read?"

Lydia slowly nodded, admitting to it all.

"The Talamasca has been following me for years. I've never known one to be so brave. Or is it just foolish?"

Her heart sped up in panic and growing terror as Peter, claws out and eyes burning, moved towards her, his face shifting.

"Don't worry, Lydia. Your kind never satisfies me." Peter stopped his advances, waved her off, dismissive.

"My kind?" Lydia asked his retreating back.

Peter turned and flashed his signature grin. "Humans. Talamascans."

Lydia stared, unmoving, after him as he leaves. She hesitated, then suddenly called out.

"I know something that is not in your journal."

There was a pause in his step, but Peter kept walking.

"You kept the violin, didn't you?" Lydia asked, a half smile playing on her lips while she focused on the man in front of her. "It's okay. I understand." she continued, quickly. "After all, it's only human." Lydia provoked, waiting for the response she knew was coming.

Wind wiped around her, the night became even darker, but Peter never replied, he did not even move. Just stood there, waiting.

Lydia swallowed hard and lowered her head, realizing her mistake in confronting this wolf.

When Peter finally did turn towards her, fangs bared and eyes wild, Lydia's attempt to shield herself with her body, raising her arms protectively, proved useless and too late. Peter's claws cut painfully into her shoulder as he lunged for her.

Survival instincts kicked in instantaneously as she made a run for it. Growls and feral snarls filled the air around her, making her push on even faster despite of the sting in her arm. Tears stung her eyes as she ran blindly through the streets, fear pulsing through her veins.

She finally stopped running, catching her breath as she stared out into the cool night, searching the dark for Peter.

"Lydia?" A voice came from behind her. She gasped, realizing running was futile.

The voice behind her grew closer.

"Lydia."

She didn't move, she couldn't turn around to face the voice that was so familiar, even if she couldn't pinpoint who it was from. All she could do, was stand there, shaking slightly.

Eventually, she took the first step forward to run, only to be held back by a hand holding onto her wrist. The hand didn't squeeze, it simply held her in place, gently.

"Lydia, you are okay."

She turned, finally realizing who it was. "Stiles?"

There in front of her, holding on to her wrist softly, stood Stiles, her mentor. His brown spiky hair was the first thing that caught her attention, followed by the sparkle in his caramel coloured eyes.

Then it sank in. She realized Peter had let her go. She brought her finger to her mouth and slowly sucked it, tasting her own blood before shivering with fear... and something else... desire. She glanced back at the alley, but the wolf was gone. She was safe.

As if in contradiction, a deep voice came from behind her. "I will have that diary, now!"

Lydia and Stiles both swept their gaze to the tall figure striding toward them; a cruelly handsome man, he was dressed in full combat gear, and his blue glowing eyes revealed his true nature.

"Stop where you are!" Stiles demanded.

The wolf strode forward. His hand flashed out from under his vest and a blade caught the light in menacing reflection. "The diary, give it to me, Mister Stilinski."

"Who are you?" Stiles stepped forward, blocking Lydia from the approaching intruder. She could hear no fear in her mentor's voice, and his chin was high, defiant.

The man was almost upon them. "I know you brought it, Talamascan. Hand it over."

Stiles reached behind his back, revealing a weapon, and assuming a combative posture.

"Whoa!" Lydia said. She could see the wolf's paw gripping his blade a little tighter.

"Get the hell away from us." Stiles said coldly to the wolf, who had wisely stopped in his tracks.

"Stiles…" Lydia touched his shoulder. "This may not be your best idea..."

As if in agreement, eight more warriors poured into the alley, each wielding a blade.

"Stand aside," the wolf commanded, "I will take the diary, and spare you and your woman."

"No." Stiles answered.

The man shrugged. "Then I will kill you both and take it anyway."

"Give him what he wants, Stiles." Lydia whispered softly. "We don't stand a chance. He will kill us."

"Since when do wolves use a knife in a fight, Lydia?" Stiles asked quickly. "Only if this needs to look like a mugging and not a wolf kill. We were always going to die."

Lydia did, in fact, look completely devastated as she let that information sink in.

The leader took a slow step forward, the man seemed, to Lydia, to be glaring at Stiles with both hatred and respect. With a nod, he said, "Not just a pretty face, then. But now I'm going to kill you both slowly and painfully."

Another voice, deep, commanding, boomed through the street. "I think not!"

Lydia looked past Stiles, who also glanced toward the source of the words, and saw a trimly bearded wolf, angular cheekbones, complemented by gorgeous blue eyes.

"Hale." The leader shouted, the other warriors stood frozen.

Peter nodded, smiling pleasantly, saying, "Kane." and swiftly revealed his claws.

The response was immediate, as Kane and his eight warriors charged forward, swinging their knives, the blades and Peter's claws viciously slicing the air.

Peter leapt forward, parrying Kane's blows, and those of a second warrior. Stiles took advantage of the distraction and reached for the diary inside his bag, placing the precious book into Lydia's waiting hands.

As the blades clanged and the growls echoed in the alley, Lydia clutched the small precious item to her chest and retreated to a corner, from which she watched, with startled pride, as her mentor, gun in hand, stepped forward with no fear and great confidence and squeezed off some rounds, killing two wolves instantly. His next shot knocked the blade from the grasp of one of the warriors, but another came pressing in, his superior speed and strength finally forcing Stiles back. Then, with a savage blow, he slammed Stiles into a wall, making him lose his weapon as he cried out in alarm, and pain.

Lydia saw her mentor cringe, which was hardly surprising, but then she also saw him knee the wolf between the legs. The warrior screamed in agony, only to have Stiles smash him in the teeth with a right hook, sending him down and out.

"Lydia, run." Peter yelled. "Get out of here!"

"But…"

"Now! They must not get the diary!"

Peter watched as Lydia picked up a sword from a dead warrior, pressed the book even tighter to her heaving chest and ran.

Focusing on the next guy, Stiles was able to take down one more before becoming overwhelmed. He just couldn't keep up, taking more hits than he could dish out. Blow after blow struck him until he was unable to fight back, dropping to the ground.

He could feel the blood from one of the wounds on his head dripping down, and he knew there were more where that came from. Tears mixed with the blood running down Stiles's cheeks as he acknowledged what was coming and that there was no way he could stop it. He sent up a silent prayer that Lydia had gotten away, and that she would never see this.

Suddenly a feral growl ripped through the street from behind the men that held him down, taking them all by surprise. Then nothing but darkness.

"Nice of you to show up, nephew." Peter said to the new wolf, almost casually, holding a blade up as indifferently as if it were a flashlight, "Little late to the party, as usual."

Nodding to his uncle, but keeping his fiery-red-eyed gaze on the intruders, the dark haired wolf said, "Perhaps niceties are best saved for later."

In the next instance, Derek was ripping off the bastard who straddled the unconscious figure on the ground, his hand going around the attacker's throat and lifting him off the pavement. It took everything Derek had to rein in his instincts that were screaming at him to shred this fucker apart. Throwing off two more who had tried to come to the rescue of the man he held, and knowing Peter had the others taken care of, Derek focused on the man in front of him.

Kneeling down on the ground to check on the boy, Derek slowly raised his hand, brushing the blood-matted brown hair out of the young man's face, careful of his claws. Studying him, Derek realised he couldn't have been more than twenty. He didn't have long to observe the wounded human though, glancing up to see that Peter had taken care of the others. Derek turned back to the unconscious man, reining in enough control to force the shift to recede. Picking up the boy, all the while making sure to be careful with his injuries, Derek headed out the alley before they attracted any unwarranted attention.

"Put him down!" Lydia yelled, looking around frantically as she emerged from a nearby building.

Before Derek had a chance to tell her to shut up, Peter was winding his arms around the woman and clamping her mouth shut with a hand. "Quiet, little red, you don't want to cause a scene."

Tensing up, Lydia tugged Peter's hand down and eyed him dubiously. "Stiles's gunfire already took care of that!"

"She's got you there, uncle." Derek said with a smirk.

Peter snorted. "You choose now to develop a sense of humour?"

"Let's just get out of here. We'll sort everything out later." Derek muttered.

Piling into the SUV, Derek sat himself in the back so he didn't have to relinquish his hold on the man in his arms. Peter slid in the driver seat with Lydia next to him.

"You need to put him down so I can get a closer look at his injuries."

"I can't." Derek whispered, holding onto the man in his arms even tighter.

"Why not?" Peter asked warily. Before he'd even replied, Derek could see realisation dawn on his uncle's face.

"He's my mate."

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